


things you were afraid to say.

by newrromantics



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:32:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12982176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrromantics/pseuds/newrromantics
Summary: It hits her that this will be the last and final time she’ll ever have to endure the unbearable presence of Buffy Summers.





	things you were afraid to say.

**things you were afraid to say.**

 

 

Cordelia is bordering the fine line between tipsy and full-on-smashed. The careful little tightrope where one second you’re balancing and the next you’re on the ground, scraped knees and crying out for help. Her hand is splayed out on the table in front of her, head resting against Harmony’s shoulder, her glass is empty.

In the other room everyone is playing a game of truth or dare; she’d laughed it off, scoffing at the immaturity of her guests as she had weaved through the party picking up discarded cans. There’s a small feeling of regret that’s bubbling in her chest—it’s this feeling she gets sometimes, an ache of nostalgia for something she hasn’t experienced, a feeling of missing out. It’s a rush, as if there is a waterfall in her chest, and then the water drizzles down and it’s gone. It’s as fleeting as her next thought about nail polish.

Someone offers her another bottle but she declines it. Cordelia’s new resolution is to be sensible and smart and sophisticated. The years of being childish are shut tight behind her, locked up in a vault labelled ‘the past’ with the key thrown out. Her new life awaits her, bright and glittering in the distance. She’s going to be a star, famous, beautiful, talented, wanted. And nobody is going to remember her disasters — Xander, her current financial status, her fall from grace, the time she fell over after Science and her skirt flew up in the wind. These are the moments of her childhood. These are the moments she’s not going to relieve.

Cordelia pulls herself away from Harmony, untangling herself from yet another remnant of a time she is soon going to forget. She’s the token of her adolescence, the years Cordelia spent being ungraceful, all the ugly secrets she’d spilled lie awake in Harmony. She feels better once distance is between them, like she can breathe again. 

Her house is a disaster zone, with streamers and glitters and deflated balloons all mixed in with empty cans and bottles and paper plates of food. But Cordelia doesn’t care, not really, because in a few days this isn’t even going to be her home. It’s going to be taken away from her, and if it wasn’t being taken away from her then she was going to leave it - she’s always wanted to leave it, anyway.

She smiles as she passes the familiar faces of the last thirteen years of her life, congratulating them on making it through graduation alive — literally, some of their peers weren’t as fortunate. Her hands reach for the handle of the door leading out to the veranda, twisting it open. It’s cool outside, not yet blazing hot like it will be in a matter of days. The stars twinkle the way they always have in Sunnydale, as if they’re passing on a secret about the small town and the demons that have made themselves at home here. 

Cordelia has always loved her backyard. There’s a rose bush and trees that used to look so much taller to her, an abandoned swing set that’s always comforting to her in her times of need, a hedge full of thorns that don’t bite. Her dog, Marbles, is buried next to the veggie garden on the far right side. It’s a small bit of land that holds a lot.

“Hi,” a voice peeps up. Cordelia’s eyes narrow as she searches for the person attached to it. Down in the corner of the veranda is a silhouette, their body comfortably spread out amongst the cushions on the love seat her parents had put out here when they first bought the house, before Cordelia was even a blimp on their radar, back when they were in love if they ever had been.

As Cordelia’s eyes become adjusted to the dark she can make out the features enough to tell who it is… petite and blonde and strong, who else could it be? She rolls her eyes as she stamps over, her body feeling loose and uninhabited, free from the restraints of caring. Her arms swing loosely by her side, her hair blowing in the light breeze. Carelessly, she flops down next to Buffy and prepares a snarky remark, only to come up short.

It hits her that this will be the last and final time she’ll ever have to endure the unbearable presence of Buffy Summers.

Cordelia is losing contact of the weird as soon as she boards her bus to Los Angeles, she is going to leave behind vampires and witches and slayers with pretty mouthes and soft, silky hair.

“God,” Cordelia says, after she’s regained her sense, “Who invited you?” It’s not sharp or witty or scathing, and she doesn’t sound annoyed when she says it. It’s almost borderline soft, a genuine interest in how Buffy had wound up on her veranda at her party.

“Open invite.” Buffy replies, popping something in her mouth. It’s then that Cordelia notices the platter of cheese balanced on Buffy’s lap.

“You stole my cheese.” Cordelia remarks, eyes narrowing in on the platter.

Buffy shrugs, picking up an olive. She’s not even looking at Cordelia. She’s looking up at the sky, and Cordelia wonders what it is that she sees when she looks at it.

The silence feels stretched out to Cordelia, long and painful. In reality it’s only a few seconds. There’s another feeling tightening at Cordelia’s chest, unmistakable  _fear_. She didn’t think she knew how to be scared anymore after everything she’s been through, but this is different, this is the fear she’s had since she first met Buffy in History and she’d sat down in the seat next to her and smelled so nice when she leant over to share her book—a combination of her perfume and shampoo. It’s the same fear she has every time she spends time with Buffy alone, whenever she looks at Cordelia with eyes that have seen the same things she has, whenever their hands briefly touch accidentally and Cordelia’s reminded that Buffy knows all about the same pain she does.

There are a million different things that Cordelia then feels the need to reveal, all the emotions she’s buried for the past three years trying to climb up out of her throat. Instead, she asks Buffy if she’s had anything to drink yet.

“I had a shot when I first got here.” Buffy replies.

“How long ago was that?” Cordelia asks, inching closer towards her.

“I don’t know.” Buffy shrugs, “Maybe an hour ago?”

Cordelia doesn’t feel as if she’s sobering up. Instead she feels as if she’s getting drunker, as if being near Buffy is having some physical and psychological affect on her that she can’t control. Or, she really has just had too much to drink.

She’s afraid she’s going to throw up, suddenly, and that all of her feelings are going to fall out with her food onto the pavement. That Buffy is going to read all the words trapped inside of her brain, swirling around, and laugh at her or walk away in disgust or she’s going to mock her and then she’s going to tell everybody.

Cordelia hates her so much. She hates how she’s just waltzed into her party in a black halter top that shows off her shoulders and that she’s stolen her cheese and that they’re sitting on this stupid love seat together that her hateful parents bought together. And she hates how she’s been dragged into this mess of a mission with her and her friends and she hates how Buffy could have been popular and pretty like one of them and she hates that she knows that she is about to cry right now because Buffy has this hold over her that she can’t explain and that she hasn’t experienced before. It’s like Buffy understands her without having to ever really know her, and oh god, she’s crying. She’s definitely crying.

Cordelia buries her head into her hands and tries to stifle the sobs. She’s so afraid. Her body is full of fear. Buffy’s hand is on her back, rubbing soothing circles for her and she’s whispering something in her ear that Cordelia can’t decipher but sounds a lot like “It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s not.” Cordelia sobs, “It’s not going to be okay.”

Buffy doesn’t ask what isn’t, and she’s thankful for that at least. How do you even begin to put it into words, Cordelia thinks. It’s not going to be okay because she’s watched more than several of her classmates die, been at the brink of death herself, had her reputation ruined, her heart broken, her money disappear, she has no clear plans for the future other than relying on her own sheer luck and determination and she thinks she’s been in love with Buffy Summers for years and hasn’t noticed it until now.

“You stole my cheese,” Cordelia cries, because she really likes cheese, and she’d been looking for that cheese platter earlier and hadn’t been able to find it and it turns out that Buffy Summers had had it. “And you left,” she buries her face further into her hands. “You left us.” Her voice is muffled and she hopes Buffy can’t hear it and if she can then she’s going to have to get her so drunk she doesn’t remember any of this night, which she’s going to have to do anyway, because this is mortifying! She’s crying in front of Buffy! Cordelia isn’t a crier—she locks up her emotions in a glass bottle and sends them out to sea the way she’s been taught to do.

“I’m sorry.” Buffy says, and she sounds genuine, and her fingers feel soft in her hair as she combs it out for her.

“I’m tired, Buffy.” Cordelia eventually says, after her breathing has gone back to a regular pace. “And there is so much happening all the time, and I’m scared.”

And Buffy looks at her with those eyes of hers, full of understanding and judgement all in one, because she’s been the person Cordelia is so she gets it but she never wants to be that girl again. 

And all she says is: “I’m scared, too.”

Cordelia holds her gaze for a few more beats and then pulls away, clasping Buffy’s hand in hers and squeezing it tight. It’s a thank you that says more than she can say.

“I have to go reapply my lipstick now.” Cordelia says softly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And she leaves without glancing back, all those words still held tight in her chest, and she thinks she’s going to have to drink a lot more so she can forget this night ever happened.


End file.
